Faith Comes in Moments
by Allons-y Rosie
Summary: Our faith comes in moments; our vice is habitual. Moments in the lives of Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran before, during, and after the Reichenbach Fall. M/M Rated M for violence, language, and sexual situations
1. I Got You

**Title: **_Faith Comes in Moments_

**Chapter One : **_I Got You_

**AN: **So hopefully some of you will like this. I wrote it in a bit of a rush in my science class and did my best to revise and edit when I typed it so keep in mind that it is un-beta'd. I'm sorry in advance for any errors. This is my first foray into MorMor fanfiction, however I've been a fan of the pairing since I started watching _Sherlock. _I'm thinking of continuing this and if I do it'll probably just be random moments leading up to, during, and after Reichenbach, although this chapter is set a month or two before Reichenbach. Also, just to put this out there, I have a Seb RP blog on tumblr (.com) and I'm looking for a Jim to come play with me. If you're interested let me know! If not, just read the fic and hopefully you'll enjoy it!

_Our faith comes is moments; our vice is habitual - Ralph Waldo Emerson_

*MMM*

The warehouse was empty, the night was cloudless, and the job was going well. All in all, Sebastian Moran was having a great night; an ideal night, even. He was overseeing in the torture of one of their German allies who'd turned traitor. The poor man was already crying and they'd only been at it for two hours. They'd only torn off two of his fingernails; mere foreplay. Sebastian smiled at the thought of what he'd had planned for the main event.

"Please! I don't know who the boss sold his share to. He doesn't tell me anything," the man's eyes were wild as he begged, panting.

"I'm just a lackey."

Sebastian knew he wasn't just a lackey. The man had been the one to meet then and give them their money. No criminal with half a mind would just give that job to a lackey. He remembered the night it happened. They'd made the German wait while they counted the money in the suitcase but the idiot had gone for his gun and a shoot out between the Germans and Jim's crew had ensued.

Sebastian had taken a hit in the leg when he dove to cover Jim and wrestled him out to the car. As if that hadn't been bad enough, he'd lost three of his best men that night. Two of which had been family men whose wives had no idea who their husbands worked for. The third had only been twenty but was a crack shot. However, that wasn't why he was mad.

Sebastian took pride in who he hired for Jim. He enjoyed being in charge of a unit, no matter what the circumstances, and building trust between himself and the men he was in charge of was a big part of that. When his boys took a hit, he took it personally.

Plus, Jim had thrown a fit and holed himself up in his computer room for days, trying to figure out the best revenge, and for that more than anything the German bastard would pay.

He watched coolly as one of his guys punched the man and his lip twitched as the crack of the nose breaking echoed around the empty warehouse. He started crying and Sebastian lit a cigarette, motioning for his boys to back off. He sucked on the filter, relishing the taste of paper and nicotine floating in his mouth. He knew Jim would be mad at him for smoking but his leg hurt and he deserved it. Besides, if Jim was actually mad about it and not just being dramatic, which wasn't rare, he'd cheerily remind him that he could put a bullet in his thigh and see if he felt like a cigarette after, too. Although knowing Jim, he'd consider a bullet graze in the thigh an aphrodisiac. Sebastian blinked as his eyes glazed over at the though and flicked some ash off his cigarette, kicking it towards the German.

He heaved himself off of the crate he was leaning on for support and walked towards the man tied to the chair, hating himself for limping. He positioned himself directly in front of him.

"Look at me." His voice was low and calm, even toned, but the man continued snivelling at the floor. He waited a moment, the kicked the chair leg hard. The chair rocked back for a second and the German looked panicked, thinking he was going to fall over, before it righted itself again.

"I said, look at me." The man complied.

"There, that's better," he gave a tight lipped smile but quickly became impassive again, aware of the cold steel he could produce in his eyes. It was one of Jim's favorite things about him.

"Now, we could do one of two things at this point," he said earnestly, "you could let us know where your boss is hiding and where our share of the profit is and we'll leave right now and let your boss find you and kill you himself, barring the fact that we'll probably get to him first. Or," he paused and walked over to the tray of utensils beside the chair and picked up a pair of gardening shears, "we find out just how long it takes to cut off one of your hands with these." The bound man whimpered and the men behind Sebastian snickered.

"Your choice," he added and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"P-please, I have a family."

"Don't bother lying."

"No, please," he raised his tear and blood stained face to meet Sebastian's eyes full on.

"I do. Please, you must know that's like."

"Do I?" Sebastian asked, feigning interest. He motioned for two of his strongest men to come over and hold the man's arms down so he could start getting the shears around the man's wrist.

"Please!" he shrieked, really fighting and panicking now, "everyone you deal with knows about you and your boss." Sebastian paused. His jaw clenched, eyes closed. He could sense the shift in the emotions of his men. Shock first, not about him and Jim, but that the pathetic man in front of them actually had balls enough to say something about it. Then another second ticks by and they're uncomfortable, averting their eyes. The silence is chilling because Sebastian knows they're waiting for him to say something; to deny it. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. The man is white as a sheet but looking hopeful about what he perceives to be borrowed time.

"What about us?" Sebastian's voice is still low, but he's barely able to keep the snarling venom out of it. The man gives a relieved pant and tries for a cocky smile, as if he has the upper hand now.

"That you and Moriarty are," he searches for the right word, "_fucking_." He spits it out and laughs.

At that moment Sebastian's phone goes off and the warehouse echoes with the sounds of Sonny Bono and Cher singing, "I Got You Babe." The German laughs again, his face lighting up with what the inexperienced person would call glee. Sebastian knows it's hysteria.

"I knew it! That's him calling too, isn't it?" Sebastian smiles and laughs, looking around at his men. They all look unsure. Finally one of them laughs with Sebastian and the rest follow, the song still playing and the gravity of the situation momentarily forgotten.

Sebastian stops laughing abruptly and pushes down on the shears with a grunt. The man's hand falls to the floor and he screams. The men stop laughing and go pale. Sebastian glares at them all until they look to the floor, his position as their head back in place.

"Clean this up, would you?" he says and they scramble to obey. He answers his phone.

"Finally, I was starting to think you'd never pick up," Jim's grumps from the other line but Sebastian can hear the lilt behind it, meaning he's not really angry, "I was starting to get worried."

"No, you weren't."

"No, I really wasn't," Jim giggles for a moment and Seb can hear him typing. He knows that he's sitting at his desk with four computer screens up, in his pyjamas with one leg tucked under him, and the cell phone cradled between his neck and shoulder. It was his typical multitasking position.

"Soo," Jim sing songs, "how's the job going? Has he spoken yet?"

"Not quite," Sebastian hedges, reluctant to say he's been unsuccessful.

"How many hands does he got left, then?"

"As of the moment you called and any respect my men had for me flew out the window, one," he said through clenched teeth. Jim hums.

"Yes, how do you like your new ringtone?"

"It's Sonny and Cher for Christ's sake. What do you think?" he mutters as he lights another cigarette.

"I think you'd better drop that fucking lighter and not smoke in the suits I buy you before I come over there and make you all into furniture."

"How did you - ?"

"Top left corner of the room." Sebastian glances over and sees the camera. He curses and puts out the cigarette, stashing the lighter in his pocket. He should have known.

"Now you listen to me," Jim's voice lowers and is no longer lilting and pleasant, "I don't need that information anymore but I _do _need to make sure our little sauerkraut kids know just who they're dealing with. Is that clear, Sebastian darling?" Jim purrs the last two words and Seb rolls his eyes.

"Crystal."

"Perfect. Bye, now."

The line goes dead and Sebastian puts his phone away. He tries to remember that Jim is actually the best thing that's ever happened to him, but he's too frustrated right now to recall why.

He turns around to see that the boys are almost done cleaning up but the German is still in his chair moaning pitifully about his hand. He takes out his knife and sighs as he walks up to the man. He takes a second to compose himself before grabbing the man by his hair, opening his mouth and cutting out his tongue. He hears one of the new recruits retching behind him but doesn't stop. He goes about mutilating the man then, finally stabbing him, pushing his knife into his eye socket until he stops moving.

Sebastian steps back and pushes his hair out of his eyes, the blood from his leather gloves working with the gel he'd put in this morning to slick it back in place. He rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath.

"Now," he turns towards his men on his heel and they watch him with wide eyes. A few have their mouths hanging open dumbly.

"Anyone else care to say anything about my love life?" He is calm now as he surveys them. They avert their eyes and shake their heads. Someone mutters a quiet, "no, sir." He nods.

"Get the car, then. We're done here."


	2. Chemistry

**Title: **_Faith Comes in Moments_

**Chapter Two: **Chemistry

**AN: **Well, here is another chapter as promised. The last chapter got so much love and I'm so grateful for it! Seriously, you guys rule! This is yet another moment in Seb and Jim's relationship. I actually sat down and outlined what chapters are going to be which moments and I have to say I think it's going to be an emotionally damaging fic. Sorry in advance. Also, this chapter is in Jim's POV because I figured he's a bit more observant than Sebastian. Like the last one, this chapter is unbeta'd so please be kind to me. Read on.

*MMM*

Jim Moriarty was a busy, busy man but, he supposed, that was why he was so successful. He'd built himself from the ground up. From drowning bullies in swimming pools to running one of, if not the most lucrative crime ring in the world. It'd been hard. Of course, if it'd been easy he wouldn't have wanted it. And it _hadn't _been easy. To his surprise, most of the sharks in the crime tank had taken some persuading to believe that a short "kid" with an accent from no where and a funny voice could tear them open with one observant look and a phone call. But eventually they'd get the message because everyone always underestimated Jim and usually when they found out how wrong they were, it was too late. They were already in his boat and gasping. He'd already made the call.

And that was just fine with him.

Except when his phone calls got ignored.

Which was why Jim was currently wrist deep in his latest employee's stomach. He twisted the knife and the man in front of him screamed, causing more blood to spill onto Jim's shirt sleeves. It was a good thing he'd taken his suit jacket off. His dry cleaner had been starting to get suspicious.

"Now, Tommy boy," he said as he took the knife out of the man, "tell me again _why_ you didn't do as I asked?" He smiled and rocked back on the balls of his feet while he waited for the man to stop coughing up his own blood.

"They, oh God," he spluttered, "they were just kids. Their mum was just reading to them."

"Hmm, yes I see," Jim crossed his arms and nodded, his voice light.

"So, you _didn't _have the shot, then,?"

"No, I-"

"Sorry, you _did _have the shot?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No," Jim's voice lowers and his stare is black. He had been playing before but he's angry now. He approaches Tommy again and put the point of the knife under his chin, forcing him to look up.

"No, no, no, no, no, my dear Thomas," he shakes his head, genuinely crestfallen, "you had the shot. I told you to take the shot and you didn't." He sighs.

"You disappointed me and now you've wasted so much potential," Jim shrugs, then smiles sadly, brushing away a strand of the man's hair.

"But, fortunately," his face falls for a moment, "for you, that is," he adds disdainfully, "I need someone who's a good shot so I have to keep you around." Jim unbinds Thomas and throws a first aid kit at him. Thomas fumbles the catch and scrambles to open it.

"I've not punctured anything crucial. Clean yourself up. I'll be outside." Jim can hear the man crying with relief as he steps into the alley way. Hip lip curls. He's always hated the criers, but at least he waited until Jim stepped outside to blubber.

Anyway, it isn't as if he has a choice. Thomas is his third sniper this month and he's running low on help as it is. If he doesn't start controlling himself now, he'll have to start doing the dirty work himself and his suits are much too expensive for that sort of thing.

There's a gun shot and Jim spins around, looking for the source. A second ticks by and there's another blast. Jim follows the sound down the alley to what looks like the back of a small pub, and watches as a man lights a cigarette then loads his pistols again.

The man is tall but broad shouldered with light brown hair and a slight tan. His straight back screams "army" but his stance whispers "self taught" as his tense jaw states "officer." Jim narrows his eyes, intrigued when the man looks up for a moment, exhales in a puff of smoke and fog, aims, and then pulls the trigger. There's a short squeal as a rat falls off the roof above and lands in the dumpster sitting against the wall of the pub. The man flicks the ash off of his cigarette and Jim releases the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

He's lovely.

Jim emerges from the shadows, applauding, and the man looks up. Jim is pleased to see that his eyes are a cold blue but they don't look surprised at his sudden appearance; just hard, a challenge.

Jim grins.

"Oh well done, you," he purrs and puts his hands in his pockets.

"I must say, you're quite an impressive shot," he stops walking when he's about three feet from the tall man. Oh, and he _is _tall. Jim had underestimated just how powerfully built he was from his vantage point in the shadows. Not that he was hiding, of course, but the alley shadows hadn't shown the man in detail. Up close, he was much more...defined. The man quirks an eyebrow and grinds out the cigarette under his heel.

"Can I help you?"

"I don't know yet," Jim surveys him coolly, "do you come here often?" The man shrugs.

"Not really, but...," he trails off. His words are slightly slurred but he's standing straight, so he's not completely drunk. Probably just buzzed, Jim thinks.

"Have we met?" he asks. His accent is clipped and proper. He's most likely been to college, somewhere expensive, too. In a conversation he'd be well spoken. Jim shakes his head.

"Unfortunately we haven't," he laughs and loses his accent in favor of the man's posher one, "but I do think we could be friends." The man laughs at him as if he's not dangerous. Jim smirks because he knows he is. He doesn't mind the way he's being assessed by the soldier.

"Right," he hesitates, then, "do you have a name?"

"So many questions," Jim teases, back to his sing song Irish. He approaches the man until they're almost toe to toe. The man meets his gaze with those cold eyes and Jim suppresses a shudder. He can practically feel the coiled energy in this man waiting to spring, has been waiting all night for something to pounce on, whether it'd be a fight or a shag, Jim can't tell but he knows this man won't shy away from trouble. It's a head rush. He leans in close towards the man so their faces are almost touching. Jim hates his height for a moment but shakes off the feeling.

"I do have a name," he whispers, keeping his eyes locked on those eyes. The man licks his lips.

"And?" Jim's eyes are all light and malice. He's precious.

"I have a lot of things. I might even have something for you if you're lucky enough." He's about to slip one of his business cards into the man's pocket but the man catches his wrist. His hands are warm and rough as he brings Jim's wrist up to eye level and reads the card.

"A business card with no name?" he smiles slightly, amused, and Jim shrugs, all wide eyed innocence. He takes the card but keeps his hand on Jim's wrist. His grip is tight.

"And the blood all over your hands?"

Jim says nothing but flexes his fingers pointedly, and the man lets go.

"I might just be interested in that something you have for me, then."

"Then may I have your name?"

"You want me to give you my name when I don't know yours?" he shakes his head and gives a small laugh, "fat chance, mate."

"Well," Jim grimaces, "I suppose if you're not interested...," he trails off and starts to walk away, counting in his head.

He gets to six.

"Sebastian Moran," the man calls out and Jim grins triumphantly, his eyes closed and his head thrown back to the night. He spins around on his heel, settling his face back into an impassive mask, but even he can't keep the glee out of his eyes.

"I'll be in touch, Sebastian Moran," he nods his head at the puzzled looking man and walks back inside the abandoned store where he'd left Tommy to patch himself up. He takes the hand gun from the counter and walks to the back room where Tommy is. The gun man's managed to stitch himself up though he's still shaking. He notices Jim standing by the door and smiles nervously, glancing at the gun.

"Hi, Boss. I-,"

"Change of plans, Tom my dear," he raises the gun and pulls the trigger. The bullet flies and Tom goes still. Jim walks out and tosses the gun behind him, already on his phone.

"You're fired."


	3. Losing It

**Title: **Faith Comes in Moments

**Chapter Three: **Losing It

**AN: **You guys have been so nice to me so I wrote you a treat...hopefully. A.K.A. Sexy times. That's right, you heard me. Jim and Seb are banging in this one. So if you don't think you're mature enough to handle it, then calmly sit and wait for the next chapter. I'm actually not super great at writing smut so please be kind to me. Hopefully this flows okay. Also, this was written late at night, is a _long_ chapter and is still unbeta'd so I am deeply sorry for any mistakes.

*MMM*

Sebastian walked into his bedroom, took off his jacket, shirt, tie, shoes and socks, and collapsed onto his bed face down.

To say the least, it'd been a bad day.

The job he'd been on hadn't panned out the way he'd hoped. He'd been outnumbered and outgunned, two things he hated, and it'd been messy because there were witnesses. All of this because Jim hadn't briefed him properly.

He sighed. It wasn't the first time Jim hadn't given him necessary information in the history of their...business relationship. If he could even call it that.

Sebastian kicked the blanket away from himself, frustrated. On an employer/employee level, Seb liked Jim. He was smart, malicious, ruthless, and knew how to get the job done no matter what it took. While the other men who worked for Jim feared him, Sebastian genuinely respected him. He knew good generals when he saw them and Jim was a _great _general. They worked well together. There was a mutual awe between them that couldn't be faked and, unlike in the army, Seb didn't mind taking orders because he knew what the fight was actually about. Jim wasn't fighting terrorists. Jim _ was _terrorist and his crusade wasn't against one group of people, it was against everyone. Jim believed everyone deserved what they got from him, no matter how harsh or cruel, and after what Sebastian had seen in his time in the army, he couldn't help but agree. People were capable of horrible things no matter how good they seemed at the time, which is why Sebastian had no qualms about shooting at whatever Jim told him to. The man had a business to run and he ran it in the most harebrained and efficient way possible. Sebastian was more than willing to help.

It was more than a little frightening to be honest.

Because while he liked Jim as his boss, on a personal level he liked him a lot more. It was problematic.

Even from the first time they'd met, Jim had held him in thrall. The way he moved, so relaxed but ready to strike at any moment, was fascinating. And the way Jim's eyes could go from flat and mean to alive and manic in a second kept Sebastian constantly on edge. It was addicting. He knew there was something between them that was more than that they were on the same side. It was destructive and Sebastian knew that sooner or later the bomb would go off and they'd collide.

Sebastian knew he'd lose.

His phones goes off and it's Rod Stewart's _Do ya Think I'm Sexy_. Sebastian groans and remind himself to change the lock to something more complex. He answers.

"Hello?" There's a choked sob on the other end and Sebastian sits up.

"Jim?" he says urgently, and there's a breathless laugh.

"Seb," a pause, "I'm bleeding," his voice is faint but giddy and Sebastian gets up, already throwing on a sweat shirt and shoes.

"Okay Boss, where are you?" he asks, trying to remain calm. He knew Jim would hurt himself from time to time, couldn't ignore the scars that even long sleeved shirts couldn't hide, but this time Seb could tell there were drugs involved. Not even Jim could get that giddy on blood loss alone.

"I'm at the white one...," he trails off and Seb knows where he is. He's at the flat not too far from here, the one Jim refused to paint because he liked the way blood stains looked on the white walls.

Sebastian's running down the stairs and in the black Lexus in an instant.

"Jim, you have to keep talking to me."

"Don't want to, Seb."

"Yeah, I know," he's speeding through London on a cell phone. If he doesn't have to shoot a cop, it'll be a miracle.

"But you have to. Where have you cut yourself?" Jim giggles for a moment and sighs.

"All over," he slurs then takes a shaky breath, "but it still burns, Seb. My head is _burning_. Always, always, burning," he hums to himself. Sebastian stops in front of the flat and takes the stairs two at a time. He unlocks the door and hangs up the phone, praying he's got the right location. He does.

Jim is on the floor with his back against the kitchen counter with his head tilted back and his mouth open. His eyes are half shut and his eyes are glazed over. He gives a weak wave to Seb.

"Took you long enough," he mutters and Sebastian bites back a retort in favor of walking over to inspect the damage Jim's done to himself.

His wrists and thigh are all bleeding but the cuts don't look too nasty. He reaches over and lifts one of Jim's eye lids and grimaces. His pupils are so big there's barely any iris left.

"You know traffic's hell at this hour, isn't it?" he says and Jim grins slowly, nodding.

"How many pills did you take then?" he asks and waits for Jim to respond. After a while he furrows his brows and shrugs.

"Loads," he whispers. Sebastian nods.

"That's what I thought." He lifts Jim up, one hand under his arm and one across his waist, and walks him to the bathroom. As soon as they get to the door, Jim lets go of Seb and hits the tile on all fours, already vomiting. Sebastian kneels by him as Jim heaves and puts a hand on his back. He should be used to this by now, it isn't the first time Jim's tried to kill himself, and the routine's always the same but it never fails to scare Sebastian. He tells himself it's because if Jim dies, he's out of the best job he's ever had. He knows it's because he cares about Jim and the thought of losing him makes his pulse twinge.

Sebastian doesn't even see the punch coming.

It makes him fall back hard on his elbow and his vision goes black for a second. He blinks and moves his jaw to make sure nothing's broken.

"Jim, what the fuck?" he curses and Jim's kneeling in front of him, eyes still unfocused but angry.

"Next time I call, I want you here in _under_ ten minutes," he stumbles closer so they're eye to eye and puts his hand on Sebastian's shoulder to hold himself steady.

"Or I'll disembowel you," he whispers gleefully in Sebastian's ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Jim notices and grins, as threatening as possible considering he can't focus his eyes or stand. He wipes his mouth on Sebastian's sleeve and gets up, walking to the bedroom unsteadily.

Sebastian sighs and get the first aid kit from the linen closet. He can feel the bruise forming on his jaw. It throbs but Jim's done worse to him.

He walks to the bedroom and Jim's sitting on the bed, a whiskey bottle in his hand. He takes a swig and wrinkles his nose, then offers the bottle to Sebastian. Sebastian eyes it warily and shakes his head. Jim shrugs and takes another swig; trying to bring himself as down as possible from the drugs. Jim shows Seb his wrists. The cuts are shallow but long. Sebastian puts some disinfectant on them and wraps them in gauze. He can feel Jim's eyes on him and he pauses. The only cut left is the one on his thigh. He looks up at Jim. He's still out of it but the alcohol seems to be having an effect.

"Seb," he draws out the name in a whinge, "what's the hold up?" The alcohol's made him whiney and Sebastian sighs.

"Just wondering if you'll hit me again." Jim laughs.

"Why should I? I think I made my point."

"Because I'm going to have to take off your pants to get to the cut on your thigh."

"Mmm, such a gentleman, asking permission," Jim hums, looks at Seb for a moment, then falls backwards on the bed, undoing his belt and kicking off his pants, "the girls must _love_ you." Sebastian rolls his eyes and moves over to sit on the bed so he can see the wound more clearly. It's deeper than he'd thought but doesn't look like it'll need stitches but simple cream disinfectant won't do...

Seb has an idea and grabs the bottle from Jim's hand and quickly pours the whiskey on the wound. Jim hisses and digs his nails into Sebastian's arm, drawing blood.

"Oh, you stupid fucker," he groans and grits his teeth against the pain, breathing hard through his nose. Seb quirks an eyebrow and can't help but feel a little triumphant. He rarely gets to see Jim undone and in pain. He shifts uncomfortably when he feels the blood rush to his groin. Jim laughs breathlessly and looks at Seb from the corner of his eye.

"That was revenge for today, wasn't it?"

"No, sir."

"Lying bastard," he mutters and he runs his thumb over the scratch marks on Seb's wrist, "no one likes a vindictive person, Sebby." He hums quietly to himself as Sebastian cleans the wound on his thigh. His eyes close and Sebastian can feel himself start to calm down. He'd been taken by surprise is all, he tells himself. He rarely saw Jim so messy and unkempt and he couldn't help how his body reacted. It was a fluke. Plus Jim had hit him pretty hard so maybe his head was just...

Jim walked his fingers up from Seb's wrist to his upper thigh and Sebastian paused as he tried to concentrate on taping up Jim's wound. He swallowed hard.

Jim's fingers paused on Sebastian's crotch, then started to undo his zipper. Sebastian grabbed his wrist and put it back by his side.

"Jim," he warned and looked up. The man was watching him with a hungry look in his eyes. He'd never seen his eyes quite so black before. He looked like a hunter. Sebastian bit back a groan at the thought and met his eyes. Jim frowned.

"What's the matter, tiger," he leaned up so the two were face to face. Seb licked his lips. He was fighting with himself, Jim knew, and he grinned.

"You're still high, Jim," Seb said firmly and Jim giggled into Seb's neck, biting lightly, and he felt the vibration as Sebastian moaned.

"Oh, Sebby," he said, "you and I both know that's not true." Sebastian's hand went to the back of Jim's neck, pulling the short hair there lightly in a weak attempt to restrain him.

"Why? Are you really so afraid of taking advantage of me?" Jim whispered and Seb pressed his hand onto the cut in Jim's wrist, making the criminal whine. The sound nearly undid him then.

Seb knew it was wrong; that Jim wasn't completely sober, and his breath did smell a bit like vomit, and he was covered in blood, but he couldn't do it because Jim was his boss and -

Jim rubbed against his leg and Seb could feel him through his boxers, warm and hard, and he forgot why he couldn't.

He growled and rolled over, trapping Jim underneath him in one motion. Jim's breath hitches and he aligns his hips so his cock was flush against Seb's and they both groan at the friction. It was perfect and Seb couldn't remember the last time he'd felt quite so turned on by someone. Of course, there'd been women before and after the army, and even a guy or two during, but this was different. This wasn't a ditzy bint from the pub or a desperate fuck with one of his army buddies. This was Jim, someone he'd seen dismember one of his own men because of a snide comment about a _suit. _One of the most powerful men in the underbelly of the world, and here he was writhing under Sebastian like any other person.

Jim groaned and pulled Seb down by the neck, biting at his bottom lip and drawing blood, then licking it away with a swirl of his tongue. He grinned and rocked his hips up, watching as Sebastian closed his eyes.

"Jim, please," he could barely form his words, "I need - ."

"Shut up," Jim said and pulled Seb down by his hair for a rough kiss. It was messy, all teeth and tongues but Seb didn't care. He just wanted to consume and own and he knew Jim wanted the same.

Jim's hands went to unbutton his pants and Seb arched into the touch. Jim's hands were warm as he palmed Seb through his boxers and he gave a pleased laugh when Seb growled at him impatiently.

"Eager, are we?"

"Jim, please just - oh, God."

"Please what, Sebby?" he teased and gasped when Sebastian bit his shoulder.

"Just...touch me already, you bastard," he bit his lip as Jim began rubbing him in a circular motion through the fabric of his boxers. He should've known Jim would be a tease even when it came to sex.

"Hmmm," Jim deliberated and in a desperate attempt to get a reaction from him, Sebastian drew Jim's cock out of his boxers and began stroking him slowly, rubbing his thumb over the bead of precome that was leaking from the tip. Jim threw his head back and gave a high pitched whine.

"Oh Seb, you don't play fair," he said but started pulling down Seb's boxers anyway. They both gasped as their cocks touched without their clothing to come between them and they moved against each other, searching for the friction they needed.

Jim's hands roamed to Sebastian's chest and he paused to help him take off his shirt. Seb tugged off Jim's shirt and licked at a jagged scar that ran down his sternum and crossed over to the top of his ribs. Jim shuddered and pushed Seb's head down to his hips. He nipped at the sensitive flesh there, and listened to the different sounds Jim made as he moved closer to his cock.

He could do this forever, he thinks, just lick and suck at Jim and see how many sounds he can draw out of him. It makes him delirious.

He looks up at Jim and licks up his length, swirling his tongue around his head and finally closing his mouth around it, sucking him as he does. He can hear Jim above him, panting and cursing as he sucks him off.

"Seb," he pants and tugs him back up by his hair for a scorching kiss, "I want you to fuck me," Jim all but snarls. Seb stares at him for a moment, then nods.

"Okay, do you have -?"

"Second drawer in the night stand. You don't need a condom." Sebastian leans over to the night stand and rifles through the drawer with shaking hands. He can't concentrate with Jim still grinding against him and - oh, God. Jim rolls his hips in a certain way and Seb has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from coming.

"Jim, if you keep it up this is going to be over a lot sooner than it should be," he growls and knees Jim in the ribs. Jim yelps and Sebastian smiles.

"Then I suggest you _hurry up_."

Sebastian smirks and pours the lube on his fingers. He'd only done this twice before but he's not worried. He doubts he could really hurt Jim, and even if he did the psychopath would just end up getting off on it anyway.

Once his fingers are slick enough, Seb circles his index finger around Jim's opening, enjoying the way Jim keens and grips the sheets in anticipation.

"Sebastian, I don't have all night," Jim grits out through his teeth and Sebastian pushes one finger into him quickly. Jim gasps then moans as Sebastian's finger moves inside him. Jim pushes down on it and Sebastian coaxes another finger in, scissoring them in and out, stretching him. His finger brushes something inside Jim, making Jim tense and let out a loud, broken, moan. Seb does it again and Jim arches his back, calling out Sebastian's name. He takes his fingers out of Jim and prepares his cock with lube, making sure it's slick enough.

"Sebastian..._now_."

Sebastian positions his cock at Jim's entrance and pushes in, watching Jim's face the whole time. His eyes are closed and his mouth is open as he gets used to the sensation. Sebastian goes slowly, holding back, until Jim gives an impatient grunt and wraps his legs around Sebastian's waist, forcing him inside.

Sebastian rocks inside of Jim, just wanting to feel everything. He thrusts long and slow a first until he brushes that spot again. Jim cries out and runs his nails down Seb's back. The pain only adds to the pleasure and Sebastian lets go, fucking Jim into the mattress and feeling him tight around him.

Jim's hand goes to stroke his cock but Sebastian bats his hand away.

"Mine," he growls and wraps his hand around his cock. Jim's eyes close and he tightens his legs around Sebastian.

"Harder, Seb," he pants, "fuck me harder." Sebastian strokes Jim's cock and it's not long before he throws his head back and comes with a shout. He feels Jim tighten around him and he knows he's not going to last much longer. He can feel it building.

Jim smirks at him, lifts the hand that was just around his cock, and licks his own come off of Seb's fingers.

Sebastian's breath stutters and he's coming hard inside of Jim. He rides out his orgasm with a few short thrusts then collapses on top of Jim. They lay there for a minute or two, panting. Sebastian can feel the come congealing between them but doesn't care. His nose is in Jim's hair and he can smell the mix of sweat and expensive shampoo he uses. Jim huffs out a breathless laugh.

"Ugh, get off me," he says and roughly shoves Seb to the other side of the bed. Sebastian grunts and looks at Jim. His hair's mussed and there are bite marks all over his chest, neck, and jaw. He touches the most noticeable on.

"Those'll be hard to explain to the clients." Jim scowls and bends Seb's finger backwards. Sebastian wrenches it away with a noise of pain and Jim grins, lazy and sated. Sebastian watches him as he struggles to keep his eyes open, the day finally catching up to him. Before Jim's all the way asleep Sebastian asks the question that's been nagging him this whole time.

"So, what does this mean, then? About us?" Jim furrows his eyebrows and pulls Seb's arm over his chest, thinking. Then:

"It means whatever I want it to mean."

And it's the truth.


	4. Pathetic

**Title: **Faith Comes in Moments

**Chapter Four: **Pathetic

**AN: **So sorry for not updating this sooner. Writer's block has been a bitch to me lately but I think I'm okay now. I'm also sorry if the smut in last chapter was horrible. I don't think it was too bad but I didn't get a lot of feed back from it so I'm not too sure. If it was, I am sorry. Hopefully this chapter makes sense. It takes place a few months after last chapter so Jim and Seb have had some time to establish their relationship. But, then some, _ahem_, problems come up. As always, I own nothing and this is unbeta'd so I'm very sorry for any mistakes Read on and tell me what you think, lovelies!

*MMM*

"Jim, this is..."

"_What?_ It's a disguise."

"I just...you look different."

"That _is_ the point of a disguise, Sebby."

Sebastian sighed as he drove the car and glanced at Jim. He was practically manic with excitement, a bundle of fidgeting looks and designer underwear with far too much product in his hair. He was acting like a bloody sixteen year old girl meeting their idol. Which, Sebastian supposed, was far more accurate an analogy than he wanted to admit.

Jim _was _meeting his idol today - Sherlock Holmes.

Sebastian grit his teeth at the thought of the name. He'd only left for a week on a job in Mongolia. One week had been all it took for Jim to practically forget about him. He'd come home to the flat covered in newspaper clippings, blog print outs, and close ups of the detective's face. Seb could barely turn around without seeing something about the man. As if that wasn't bad enough, Jim had gotten himself a "girlfriend" and taken on a new identity.

He admitted he'd been amused at first. He enjoyed watching Jim work on his obsession. He liked the crazed glint he'd get in his eye when he spoke about Holmes. He'd even liked how the extra time with Molly had made Jim crave sex with him more. It was fun. It was fine. He'd figured Jim would eventually run Holmes into the ground and move on to another hobby; that it was fleeting. That he'd get bored.

Until this morning.

He knew Jim was watching him now. He'd stopped arguing too abruptly. Jim knew he'd annoyed him.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked. He'd dropped his character for a moment. Sebastian wasn't fooled. He knew it was a ploy to get a straight answer out of him but he wasn't going to bite.

"Nothing, sir."

"Oh, it's '_sir'_ now," Jim teased, a smirk was playing on his lips, "huh, that's funny." Sebastian glanced at him.

"What's funny?"

"It's just that only a few hours ago it was 'oh-Jim-yeah-deeper-harder-please,'" he imitates Seb's huskier voice then laughs, watching him for a reaction. It's moments like these that make Sebastian hate Jim sometimes. He wishes that Jim would just take the hint; stop digging at his nerves so damn much and leave well enough alone.

He parks the car outside of St. Bart's pathology building, careful not to show any emotion. He knows that Jim's just trying to get a rise out of him. He reaches over Jim and opens the door for him, still not making eye contact.

"We're here." Jim slams the door suddenly, almost catching Sebastian's fingers in it. His eyes are dark.

"Sebby, why are you angry?"

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Jim - ,"

"_Tell _me," Jim's tone is dripping with barely suppressed irritation, "pleeeaase," he whines and Sebastian's patience wears out. He finally turns to look at Jim.

"You bloody know why I'm angry," he snaps and Jim's staring at him with wide doe eyes. Anyone else would call it endearing. Sebastian knows better. Jim frowns, his lower lip protruding in a slight pout. Sebastian doesn't buy it.

"Stop it."

"Is this about my little verbal slip up this morning?" Jim looks genuinely curious now, "because if it is, I'd hate for you to hold a grudge." He kneels on the seat of the car to sidle up next to Seb and whispers in his ear.

"Grudges are _so _unattractive, dearest." Sebastian turns his head so they're nose to nose, his lips a hard line of anger.

"It wasn't just a verbal slip up, Jim," he pauses to choose his words carefully. He knows that if he says the wrong thing, Jim will use it against him.

"You called me...you said his name," he stops for a moment then, and takes a deep breath. "While we were...You said Sherlock." Jim's looking at him with those dead eyes and a grin spreading slowly over his face. Sebastian knows he's fucked. He hates himself.

"Why Sebby, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were jealous." Jim laughs at scratches the back of Sebastian's neck thoughtfully, "but that can't be true, can it?"

Sebastian tries not to lean into the touch but he can already feel the rush of heat start to pool in his abdomen. It's like his body is trained to Jim's touch; addicted. Even at moments like these, when he's infuriated and frustrated, he can't help but take whatever Jim gives him and like it. It's sad, really.

Jim pulls Sebastian's head back suddenly and Seb grunts at the pain. Jim shushes him with a finger to his lips. His mouth is close to Seb's ear.

"You better let go of your little attitude right now, Sebastian. Because you're not jealous." Jim's voice is deadly quiet. His hand tightens in Seb's hair, his scalp burning as Jim digs his nails in hard.

"Because jealousy would imply that you think you have a claim on me," Jim laughs, "but you and I both know that's not true." Jim pauses as he studies Seb's face for a moment. Seb is powerless. Jim has him. He curses himself for leaving his knife at home. But even if he had it he wouldn't use it on Jim. He knows what Jim's about to say, too; can see it in his eyes and he cringes.

"You're not in love with me, are you, Tiger?" Jim asks the question softly and Sebastian closes his eyes. He exhales hard through his nose and shakes his head.

"No."

"Please, Sebby don't lie to me," Jim rolls his eyes and nuzzles his nose against Sebastian's cheek, just breathing him in, "I know." There's a moment of silence. Sebastian almost denies it once again, but he knows it will only end in pain. And why should he deny it, anyway? He knew it was true. He'd known it was true for a while, but figured Jim would only torture him if he ever voiced it. Besides, it didn't really need saying. Sebastian was a man of action and internalization. He didn't feel the need to fill the air with words the way Jim did. He preferred doing things to show how he felt. He'd rather take a bullet for Jim than actually come out and talk about his feelings. It wasn't in his nature.

But this _love_ thing was awful.

He sighed as Jim nipped at his neck a few times and he tried to pull his head out of Jim's grasp so he could move to kiss him, but Jim only held on tighter. Sebastian hissed. He should've known he wouldn't be getting out that easily.

"Now let's get one thing clear, shall we?" Jim nods at him, "I get to call you _whatever _the fuck I want, _whenever _the fuck I want and you're just going to purr like a good little pussy cat and not say anything about it. Right, kitten?" Jim stops talking and waits for Seb to agree. Sebastian knows that Jim is just trying to prove a point but he feels humiliated. He should have just kept quiet. He shouldn't have complained but now here he was. He was getting his hair pulled out by the psychopath he worked for that he happened to, okay _love_, and he was still turned on. When had he become so fucked up?

The answer was sitting right next to him.

He looks up at Jim and nods. He knows he's submitting, something he'd never done before in his life; not to his father, not to the army, and not even to a wounded tiger in a storm drain. He'd been on the verge of death from his gambling and alcohol addiction, and even then Sebastian hadn't let it conquer him. But Jim does. It should be funny.

It isn't.

Jim sighs and lets go finally, a look of exasperated disgust on his face.

"You're pathetic, Sebastian," he says and puts a hand on Seb's cheek.

"Love is pathetic." His voice is sweet but the words are meant to wound. Sebastian half smiles at Jim.

"I know."

He does know. He knows better than anyone that his feelings are stupid, that Jim will never return them. He knows it's pointless. He knows they won't go away. He'd come to terms with the fact that Jim would be the death of him a long time ago.

"Good." Jim kisses his cheek. The episode is already forgotten and his character is firmly in place. Jim's excited and Sebastian wants to murder Sherlock Holmes.

"Be back here in an hour," the consulting criminal orders and Sebastian nods. Jim gives a little wave goodbye and shuts the door with his hip.

Seb drives.


	5. Working Sentiment

**Title: **Faith Comes in Moments

**Chapter Five: **Working Sentiment

**AN: **So, I accidentally wrote fluff without meaning to and I'm not really sure if I want to apologize for it or not. Sigh... As always, I don't own anything and all mistakes are my own.

*MMM

Jim Moriarty did not love.

He never loved his mother, the woman had been too busy walking around like a ghost with a bottle in her hand to pay any attention to him. His brothers had been too occupied with petty crime and girls to hang around. And his father was dead. So no, he didn't love anyone.

Certainly not Sebastian.

Jim sat in front of his computer screens, furiously typing lines of code, his eyes flicking over everything and taking the numbers in faster than his hands could actually move.

He had a client he needed to help out. An interesting one who wanted to pay a large sum of money in exchange for Jim blacking out five blocks worth of security cameras for ten minutes. The man wouldn't say why, but Jim knew what kind of damage could be done in ten minutes. He'd done more in less time himself. Plus, he was curious.

Normally, he'd give the job to one of his underlings. Blacking out security cameras was easy enough. Any college student with a semester or two in computer programming could do it given enough will power and Jim hired experts. _Normally_, it'd be easy.

Unfortunately, security had tightened around cameras ever since Jim thought it would be a laugh to sell a free Black Out app for IPhone. Some of the people who'd downloaded it hadn't even realized what it did; thought it was a joke. They'd all been arrested, though. It'd been brilliant.

Of course now it meant that in order to please his client, he'd have to hack into the system himself since his employees found it too difficult. He didn't mind. Not really, anyway. Numbers, code, and computers were his specialty. He liked them; enjoyed mapping them out with his hands and creating codes that led to false things. He was good at it.

He typed in the last line and entered it, watching as it scrambled the numbers on the screen and the cameras went black. He smirked and cracked his neck. The only thing he'd have to do now was cover his tracks; hide his IP address, his keystrokes, etc. Maybe he'd even leave them someone else's IP just for fun. It'd make the news more interesting anyway.

He set to clicking and typing again, not as furiously as before, though. Disguising everything he did was child's play at this point, second nature. No one ever got to Jim.

Seb mumbled in his sleep from the couch and Jim glanced over at him from the corner of his eye. They'd been fooling around when Jim's cell phone had gone off. It had been his top hacker, saying that the camera job was too much for them to handle and, "what should we do?" He'd told them that he'd handle it personally, then made sure that their coffee for the next morning was poisoned.

He could understand a job being too much to handle, not everyone could be as brilliant as he was, after all, but he hated for a good time to be ruined. Hence the cyanide in the Colombian Dark Roast.

Seb must have tried to wait up for him but fallen asleep in the process. Jim felt his lips quirk into a small, private smile at the thought. The poor little soldier was so sentimental sometimes. It was almost sweet, ridiculous and sickening, but sweet.

Jim finished his work and spun his chair around to look at his sniper. He was sprawled haphazardly on the couch, his hair a mess and his mouth slightly open as he snored gently. He was bare chested and his sweat pants were riding low on his hips. He looked so vulnerable and peaceful compared to how he appeared when he was awake. It was misleading, of course. Jim had seen Seb take out powerful men with his bare hands. He'd been on the receiving end of Seb's strength before. It was thrilling to watch him work.

Jim bit his lip. He wasn't usually one for permanence, especially when it came to the people he hired, but it'd almost been a year. And, if he was being honest with himself, he hadn't expected whatever it was they shared to last this long. Anyone else would either have been fired or dead by now. With Jim the two went hand in hand.

Seb was...different, though. He was deadly; took orders without a second thought, was willing to through his life on the line with an enthusiasm only Jim had seen himself rival. But in the same thread, Seb was good to him. He made sure Jim ate and slept enough. He made sure he didn't hurt himself more than usual. Granted he did it in a way that was subtle and sometimes harsh but he genuinely cared for Jim. It should've been unsettling. He should've hated it. It should have made him want to stick a knife in his jugular and watch him bleed out on the floor, but...it didn't.

He liked being with Seb. He liked knowing that the sniper would always have his back. He'd been alone for the majority of his life and now he had someone. It was disconcerting sure, but when had he ever invited normalcy into his life?

So no, Jim Moriarty did not love. But he did possess, and Sebastian Moran would never be anything but his.

Seb rolled over onto his back with his arm hanging over the side of the couch and Jim had a sudden leaping urge to yank it and watch him fall to the floor. He'd pretend to be angry, but really he'd be happy to be awake so they could pick up where they left off.

A yawn caught Jim off guard, cracking his jaw painfully, and he spared a glance at the clock. It ticked away at half past four and he scowled at it, making a mental note to take it apart later in an act of petty revenge. He had to see a client in five hours. Normally, he'd reschedule, but when your client _was_ the British Government, rescheduling wasn't an option.

He walked over to the couch with a sigh and kicked Seb's legs apart so he could settle his body between them with his head resting just below Seb's chest. It wasn't a particularly comfortable position, what with Seb being mostly hard muscle and Jim being mostly bone, but it was warm and Seb smelled nice. It was a unique mix of soap, sweat, and cigarettes that was just so him.

Jim was half asleep, lulled by the rhythm of Seb's chest rising and falling, when he felt a hand pull through his hair.

"Not a word about this tomorrow, Moran," he mumbled sleepily into Seb's skin, eyes closed, and he felt Seb huff a quiet laugh in response. He probably didn't sound as threatening as he imagined, but it was hard to when he was curled up and so content. Seb tugged at his hair and Jim let out an annoyed grunt in response. He caught Seb's hand in his own and pulled it against his chest.

"Not a word about what?" Jim smiled and let sleep finally claim him.

"Exactly."


	6. Hunted

**Title: **Faith Comes in Moments

**Chapter Six: **Hunted

**AN: **Hello, all. Sorry for the delay in posting, but school and work have been eating my brains for the past week and a half so I haven't had a chance to actually sit down and write. This particular chapter is actually being typed out on four hours of sleep, so I apologize for any errors, as always. Also, I want to give an internet hug to Atticus who left me a wonderful review that made me smile. Of course, reviews usually make me smile, but that one in particular was lovely. On that note, read on.

*MMM*

"Oh God, Seb."

"Jim...oh, fuck."

"No, just..._yes_," Jim's breath hitches and he whimpers. He holds Sebastian's hips in place and grinds against him. "Just there. Stay right there."

"Do you really expect me to not move?"

"Yes."

"Fat chance."

"Bastard." Seb covers Jim's grin with his mouth and kisses him artlessly, all teeth and tongue, as Jim rubs against him.

It was a good night...for Jim, anyway. He'd finally confronted Holmes at that godforsaken pool and come out of it, not only alive, but with an interesting new client in possession of compromising pictures of a certain member of the monarchy. He'd been positively manic when they'd left.

Seb, on the other hand, had been less than pleased. When Holmes had aimed at the explosive jacket, he'd been an inhale away from pulling the trigger and covering Jim's suit in the detective's brain matter. It would've been a pleasure, actually. For once he was thankful Jim never silenced his phone.

They'd gotten out of the car and barely made it inside the flat before they were on each other, kissing, and trying to throw aside clothing but failing. Life or death situations were a daily occurrence for both of them, but this had been different. Seb could feel it. A panic had bloomed in his chest like a wound the moment he'd thought Jim might die, pulsing and fluttering frantically. It wasn't a usual emotion for him. His hands were always steady. He was always sure, but the though of losing Jim terrified him. It was a horrible realization.

Jim threw his head back against the wall and groaned. Seb licked at his exposed neck and nipped at his pulse point. _Alive_. Jim was alive. He had to keep reminding himself or risk losing it. He had to remember that everything was fine now.

"Seb," Jim whined, a desperate note in his voice, as he pulled at Seb's hair. Sebastian grinned and rolled his hips, watching Jim's eye lids flutter as he came with a strangled cry. Like a chain reaction, Seb followed suit a moment later, his climax taking him by surprise. They'd barely touched each other and yet here they were, already spent and panting against a wall like teenagers. It was almost embarrassing.

Although it _had_ been a tense day.

Jim knocked his head against Seb's and sighed, looking at him in the eye and scowling.

"This suit," he said slowly, "is Westwood." Seb huffed a quiet laugh and kissed him.

"Then I guess you'll have to get it dry cleaned, won't you?"

"_I'm _not getting anything dry cleaned. You, on the other hand, now have an extra errand to run tomorrow." He smiled sweetly, then pushed Sebastian away from him, going to the bathroom to change.

"Not my fault you have the stamina of a bloody sixteen year old," Seb called as he grabbed a pair of dirty sweat pants inexplicably lying by the couch, and put them on. He threw his suit pants and underwear into the hamper by the bedroom and unbuttoned his shirt. He'd save the shower for tomorrow. He was too tired to actually clean himself properly at the moment. Right now all he wanted was sleep.

"I think we both know the limits of my stamina, Sebby." Jim shot back as he walked out of the bedroom and past Seb, typing on his phone.

"I _do _know you're limits. Which is why I think you should put the phone down and go to bed."

"No, no, no, darling," Jim sing-songed, plopping down in his computer chair, eyes glued to his phone. "I have plans to make." He looks up at Seb for a moment. "I have games to play with dear Sherlock."

"You what?"

"Games, plans," Jim waves a hand distractedly, "whatever you'd like to call them." His phone _pings _with a new text and he opens it. "And I think I have just The Woman to begin them." He smiles gleefully and begins to type. After a while, he notices Seb's silence and looks up. "Something wrong?"

"I thought we were done with Holmes."

"_You _might be," Jim scoffs. "_I _have a score to settle."

"No, no you don't." Sebastian shakes his head and goes to his jacket, feeling the sudden urge to have a cigarette.

"I don't?" Jim repeats slowly, not quite understanding where Seb's coming from. He puts the phone on his desk and folds his hands, watching as Seb lights his cigarette.

"Sebastian darling, I don't think I'm following."

"You're obsessed, Jim."

"I'm just _play -_."

"Don't even say it. You're not just playing. Not anymore. Christ," Seb curses and runs a hand through his hair. "This isn't a game anymore, Jim. You could have died. If he'd pulled the trigger -."

"He wouldn't have," Jim says knowingly from his chair, and Sebastian rounds on him, furious.

"How do you know?" he walks up to Jim and puts both hands on either side of Jim's chair, staring at him intently. "His finger was on the trigger and I was in another building, watching, trying not to lose it in front of my men, and you say, '_he wouldn't have_' like you know him." He stops and exhales, searching Jim's face for a shred of something human.

"He's _me_, Seb," Jim says, all lilting voice aside now. He looks fierce, like he wants Sebastian to understand. Seb looks away, scoffing.

"No, listen to me," Jim yanks Seb's head so they're facing each other again. "He and I have the same problem," he laughs. "It's the final problem and he needs to figure it out." He pauses, looking at Seb, his eyes a hard black and his mouth a thin line.

"And then we'll be done with Sherlock Holmes?"

"Then we'll be done with Sherlock Holmes," Jim affirms, looking at the sniper. A flicker of sadness moves across his eyes, but it's gone too quickly for Sebastian to completely understand it as such.

He opens his mouth to ask about it, but suddenly Jim's lips are pressing against his own with a gentleness that takes Seb by surprise. Nothing about Jim was ever gentle. Even when he was asleep, he was violent. It wasn't like him to kiss so softly.

Normally, Seb wouldn't mind, but this was strange, even for them. It awakened the part of him that felt hunted and suspicious; a part that had rarely reared its ugly head in India and in the army because it was always soaked in a thick layer of adrenaline. There was none of that here. Jim was kissing him tenderly and nothing had ever unsettled Sebastian so much in his life. He pulled away and rested a hand on the back of Jim's neck, touching their foreheads together.

"Promise me," Seb said, trying to find gain purchase on something somewhere. He wouldn't let himself get lost in the plot. He was tired of being another pawn in Jim's games. He refused to be thrown aside. He didn't want to lose.

"Promise me that this will be finished," he clarifies, watching Jim carefully. "Promise that this will be the last time."

Jim moves away from him, his face a perfect mask. He smiles slightly but it doesn't reach his eyes; not like Seb knows it should.

"I promise."

The next day, he sends Sebastian on a long job in Russia.

By the time he comes back, Jim and Sherlock Holmes are both dead.


	7. Found

**Title: **Faith Comes in Moments

**Chapter Seven: **Found

**AN:** I'm sorry. I'm not even going to _try _to avoid the things that you guys are throwing at me. I know. I am a bad, bad person for leaving you for so long on a cliffhanger.

So here's another one.

-ducks-

*MMM*

It was hot.

But that was usual, to be expected even, when one was in India. Especially in the jungle. In the city, or the market you could get away with a breeze every now and then, or at least escape the sun under the protection of an awning over a stall of some sort. But the jungle, even with its seemingly endless canopy of trees, was still hot. The fact that life could sustain itself here sometimes surprised Sebastian. That there was an ecosystem, a food chain, or, if he was feeling particularly military, he'd call it a chain of command, was amazing. The jungle forced out the weaklings, and if it didn't, only let them stay to be food for the strongest. And even then, they didn't last long. It was a glorious free for all, survival of the fittest, Darwinism in action.

And Sebastian couldn't get enough of it.

He stalked through the brush on hunter's feet, rifle strapped loosely across his back, ready to drop, aim, and fire at a moment's notice. He was looking for it. He was always looking.

But it was quiet. Jungles were never quiet. There was always something screaming, or buzzing, or rustling. It was the first tip off that this was a dream. He'd had it before, recurring, especially after Afghanistan. Nothing new. The psychiatrist had said it was part of PTSD, but he'd known better. That wasn't it at all.

It was his reminder that nothing would ever come close to the tigers, especially not his time in Afghanistan. Men had been easy to kill, but tigers...

He'd been among his own when he'd been hunting the tigers.

India had been his...place. Almost dying underneath a wounded tigress, the warm _huff huff _of her breath as she'd breathed her last, staring him down, with his knife buried in her heart had been the culmination of everything he'd ever been through up until that point. It had been beautiful.

The men he'd been camping with had found him half dead almost an hour later, mad with blood loss, babbling incoherently about respect, and fate, and death. They'd had to drag him away from under the beast, carry him back to the village to get the medical attention he'd so desperately needed, but didn't want. He remembered thinking that if he could die like that tiger, he'd be happy. Someday. If he was lucky enough.

However, this wasn't India. This was a stupid recurring dream that he couldn't get out of his bloody head. But at least he was sleeping. It was probably the most sleep he'd gotten since Jim had died, seeing as he'd spent those first few weeks relearning his roots as an alcoholic insomniac. The easy rapidity that it had come back to him would have been disturbing if he'd _cared _enough to think about it.

And it was so _quiet._

He walked past a fern, eyes constantly sweeping his surroundings for the tell tale signs of the predator. This was old. He remembered this part. In a few more steps, he'd see the swish of a tail out of the corner of his eye and crouch behind a bush, soundlessly swing the rifle from off his back, aim, and fire, causing the tiger to lunge at him despite the bullet in its side, and ending with him stabbing it in the heart. Just a few more paces and it would happen.

Two steps.

Three steps.

A clearing.

Sebastian blinked. This was new. Where was the bush? Where was the tiger? What kind of trick was his subconscious trying to pull on him? Might as well find out.

He steps into the clearing, tensing as he hears a crunch behind him, and he turns.

"Oh Seb," Jim says, a fond grin plastered on his face. "When will you learn that nothing is as sure as you think it is?"

Sebastian is jolted awake by the screeching of his ringtone, sheets covered in sweat, and panting as the remains of the dream peel off of him like layers of skin, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

Jim just couldn't fucking leave him alone, could he? His memory already haunted his every waking hour, couldn't he just be left alone with his tigers while he was sleeping, let him escape.

The answer was, of course, no and cruel in every way that Jim Moriarty could be.

Seb stays in bed, blinking at the cracks in the ceiling of the shitty flat he'd rented once he'd been sure Jim wasn't going to come back. Moving out had been hard, but necessary. There was no way he'd been able to stay in the flat they'd shared. Too many ghosts lived there for him to be comfortable anymore, and it didn't feel right staying anyway. The flat had been Jim's when he'd moved in, and the flat would stay Jim's even though he was gone.

His ringtone starts again to the sounds of I will Survive by Gloria Gaynor. Jim had changed it before Seb had left for Russia and locked it that way, successfully halting any ideas Seb had had about changing it, the _bastard_. He turns, picking it up and looking at the number. It was one he didn't recognize, but it wasn't an eight hundred number so it could have been anyone. He sighs and answers it.

"Hello?"

"Sebastian."

Seb blinks. The voice on the other end is too familiar, too painfully familiar to be who he thinks it is.

"I'm at the flat. I need you."

Who else did he know whose voice had that same up and down lilt to it, even now when it sounded hoarse and tired, lacking some of the vigor he remembered it having months ago, that night before he'd left for a business deal that hadn't even existed in Russia.

A breath, then, in a voice sounding needier and more vulnerable than he could ever remember his name being said.

"Sebastian, _please_."

Who else could it have possibly been?

"Give me ten minutes."


End file.
